Learning to Love
by bellatrixD
Summary: George reminisces his life with his wife, Alicia, their ups and downs and how he came to learn what love truly is. Inspired from Ed Sheeran's Thinking Out Loud.


_I love the GeorgexAlicia pairing and have been dying to write something for it. I got my inspiration from Ed Sheeran's song Thinking Out Loud as mentioned in the summary. If you have seen the music video for it or heard the song I think the story flows with it. I love this one shot but would greatly appreciate comments and opinions! Especially seeing as I have ignored my mountain of work to do just to get this up today (totally worth it)._

_Suggestions on ways to improve are also encouraged! Or requests for one shots. I'm thinking of doing some more just to keep writing without worrying about messing up the plot for my two ongoing fanfics._

_Enjoy :)_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the original characters from Harry Potter or the song which it is based off._

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Learning to Love

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Thousands of lines on skin, each denoting years, moments of laughter and misery, memories engraved deep into her body, like still ripples on water, the concentric circles forming rings in a tree or the scribbled markings measuring generations of heights over the years in the kitchen downstairs. They were smooth under his fingers, equally aged and marred, perhaps even more so from the countless flawed experiments staining them. It reminded him of their life.

Her chest rose and fell with every deep breath, a slight wheeze from her throat the only indication to her struggle, even in sleep.

It was not her only pain, simply one of many. Her bones and muscles, once strong enough to battle a dragon (despite her insistence on this as a child she had yet to prove it true), now too weak to balance an empty mug in her hand. Her legs eventually grew tired, trembled beneath her own weight. Leaning against the wall was a walking stick, and besides that, in the more extreme cases, a folded wheelchair.

"George."

That voice, cracked and haggard, was still the most beautiful sound to his ear, his own personal siren. Her eyes crinkled from the smile carried through her full cheeks, her only feature untouched by the years passed.

He kissed her knuckles.

"Yes, love?"

It was in these moments he evaluated their life together, just them, together in their bed, the bed they shared since marriage. It held hundreds of dents and splashes of colour, from both their private pleasurable moments, now long dormant, to their children's and grandchildren's excitement in waking them.

How long had it been? Over seventy years, surely, eighty, ninety perhaps. He could not remember exactly, but he wanted more time. Forever was not enough time to relish in the infinite qualities of a soul mate. Surprisingly, he was still learning new things about her. Her strength, the front of bliss and the freedom associated with youth she clung on to, her desperation to spread happiness to everyone as quickly as she could. In the last few months her actions and goals intensified. He did not think about it, just accepted it until he could ignore it no longer.

"Good morning."

"Mornin'."

She shifted, ever so slightly and quietly, but he did not miss the tiny groan that escaped her lips. Those blue eyes shut again, blocking out the image of the life that hurt her so, hoping for some relief in the darkness. The darkness that offered her no beauty and joy as life did, but kept her alone to bury her sorrow into the nothingness.

George used his free hand to guide her back softly, aiding her in her movements, his heart squeezing painfully with every silent gasp and wince, like an iron fist tightening its hold with every attempt to breathe freely. Every day it killed him to see her this way.

Eventually, they had successfully turned her onto her side, allowing her to face her husband. Her eyes remained closed.

"George?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

One line pinched under her finger. Gliding his finger over it he was instantly transported to that day, the day he finally understood what love was, how he would be lost without it, and he declared it in the clumsiest of ways. And still, she said yes. They were only twenty three. He gazed over her frail body, her grey skin and the white tufts of hair, and he was as mesmerised as the day he fell speechless at her untarnished beauty.

She was a dancer from birth. Being a muggleborn she had recalled stories of her numerous dance lessons and competitions. No one in Hogwarts had ever witnessed her grace in the art of dance before, only in her agility and stamina in Quidditch. But during Quidditch practice and matches she was on a broomstick, allowing for little evidence of the fluidity of her body itself. That was, until the arrival of the Yule Ball.

He had dreaded it from the moment they were all informed. He did not dance. He was adamant that the Yule Ball would simply be his and Fred's playground for extreme, outrageous mischiefs, and he stood by that for weeks. And then Fred had asked Angelina, a Gryffindor chaser. It was possibly the first moment George could recollect feeling a sense of betrayal from his brother.

The night of the Yule Ball all thoughts of pranking left him as he saw her. Embraced in the arms of a faceless stranger, she twirled and dipped and flew across the dance floor, her eyes shut in full concentration. Hands gripped her hips, lifting her to the sky as her legs twisted around him, her arms held up high. George could not look away. Her midnight blue gown followed her movements like the flames of a phoenix, the slit on the side allowing glimpses of her leg. It clung to her curves like a second skin, flowing out from the waist in angelic waves. His vision was fixed on her only, the blonde Beauxbatons on his arm non-existent in the presence of Alicia.

Stars sprinkled across the blanket of the dark winter sky lit up the Quidditch pitch, morphed into an extravagant garden. The floating jarred fairies replicated the stars within arm's reach, blue and pink and gold; the arched flowers and hedges allowing secrecy. It was by chance that he stumbled across her, sitting on a bench, her eyes closed and head tilted up to the sky.

"Ali."

Blue eyes met brown and smiles reflected.

"Why, doesn't George Weasley just look the gentleman in his fancy dress robes," she smirked, her attention falling solely to him.

His posture straightened and he combed his fingers back through his long hair. "It's for mourning. Yellow was at the top of my list but I figured this would be more appropriate."

"Mourning? For what?"

"The death of my dancing virginity."

The fairies danced to her laugh.

"You've never danced before?"

"Of course I've danced. Just…not waltzed."

She stood up then, her head grazing his chin. He noticed her heels sitting on the bench she just vacated. Her palm was held up to him as he lifted an eyebrow. Their eyes spoke their language, stubborn and patient. George placed his hand in hers.

It was a slow start, awkward and stiff on behalf of George, resulting in sore feet and twisted arms. It was an embarrassment to her previous dancing back in the hall with her skilful partner. There was no jumping, or twirling or flexible limbs and dives. This was all foot stepping, uncomfortable turns.

She was shorter than most girls her age, and in spite of her love of dance she had never been stick thin. Her waist under his hand was soft and firm compared to his date's bony figure, but he could not find comfort in his rigid steps. The glow of her radiant smile did not emerge with their dance. He made to release her, allow her the enjoyment of returning to the castle and dance to her hearts content with more faceless figures.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, gripping his shoulder and hand tighter. He had to force himself not to squeal through the agony.

"What's it look like? I'm _trying _to stop."

"And why is that?"

"Because I look bloody daft and I'm ruining your night."

Never before had a Weasley twin ever admitted to such negative feelings, such low self-esteem and confidence. Alicia was so bewildered she momentarily loosened her hold. He took advantage and stepped back, turning to retreat wherever his ashamed feet led him only to be pushed back.

"Stop being a pussy, Weasley," she forcefully took his hands again, glaring up at him. "Dance with me."

And he did, whether out of fear or admiration for her insistence, he didn't care, shadowing her feet, slowly adjusting to the foreign steps. It was typical of her, he should have realised as soon as the thought crossed his mind to relinquish his time with her. But in each other's arms, he was immensely glad she held on. It was almost like fate.

The mess of blonde curls on her head had escaped their pins and bands, shooting around her head like a wild halo. The soft snow and light wind blew it around her.

"At least Fred gave it a go," she said.

"He was determined to gouge someone's eye out with his toe."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he did, I'm pretty sure he almost kicked McGonagall's hat off."

"Five sickles?"

"If you move your arse and actually start dancing properly."

A deep breath, and then, mirroring his brother, George swung her around the makeshift garden, limbs rocking and shaking violently. Their laughter echoed, and then came whispers and soft kisses, their first kiss. Soon they swayed together, her head over his beating heart under the light of a thousand stars. They had no idea what love was. It was the first time the concept crossed George's mind.

Young George was stupid. He was reckless and headstrong and ultimately silly. That he could remember. If he could return back to that moment in time he would have swept her off her feet, carried her to his broomstick and flown her across the castle. That was the romantic thing to have done. But Young George was not romantic.

Their children, bless them, had grown up much the same. They each had fulfilled their own dreams and ambitions, one in the Quidditch industry, the other highly influential in the reformed Ministry of Magic and their youngest and only daughter taking on her father's and uncle's legacy with the famous joke shop alongside her cousin. The names George and Fred Weasley bled into the background, surviving mainly in print in history as being soldiers in the war, a beacon of sunshine in the greyness of the Death eater infected Wizarding world. They were otherwise forgotten to the rest of the world.

Age caught up to him after years of seeking him out. His wife had always teased that he could sneak away from death but had allowed himself to grow old with her. He forgot most of her comments.

Red hair fading to grey was the first sign. Alicia was mortified. She had always said his hair was her favourite thing about his image; it was as vivid and unruly as he was. They still saw the red in their children though, only filtered down into a mixture of orange and blonde.

And then white came after grey.

Every night after work he would rest his head in Alicia's lap, her old fingers gently running through his withering hair.

"I love you," she would say, "Even though your hair's gone to shit."

He would laugh until he choked on it, coughing until he could breathe freely and laugh again. She never did grow old, not really. Her body may have wrinkled and weakened but her heart was untouched by time.

Mornings became his favourite. Most days during their blissful months before parenthood he would open his eyes to his wife nestled against him, her naked body warm against his, their legs entwined and hair mussed. And then came their children, jumping and shouting. Family breakfasts on the weekends were spent at their house when the grandchildren were born, and he woke up alone, only to find his wife in the kitchen, surrounded by giggling children, cheerful adults and delicious smells.

He would stumble in – always stumble in his half-awake state – and rub the sleep from his eyes, his dreams blinking behind his eyelids only to crystallise into the life before him.

"Granda!" the youngest would yell, attracting the attention to him, commencing loud greetings from everyone else.

After kisses and hugs around the room he would stand beside his wife and kiss her on the forehead.

"Pancakes and syrup on the table, hurry before Daniel takes it," she said, smiling at their grandson shovelling food into his mouth.

"Tha'ks, love," he yawned, scratching the stubble on his chin that his wife loved so much, claiming it made him manlier.

Alicia would pull him down by his hair, the hair he kept reasonably long and white, and kiss him, startling him awake as their family groaned before tying his hair in a low ponytail – he always got food stuck in it otherwise. On his way to the table, with surprising strength, she would slap his bum.

"Mum!" their son would groan.

"What?" she said, blue eyes wide and innocent. "There was a fly there."

Her smile, exactly the same as from her youth, started a chain reaction of laughter. Her full cheeks widened, and George could not believe he ever doubted loving that smile.

She would turn around and murmur, "Can't help it if my man's still got it."

Ignoring his breakfast, always his favourite on family breakfast days, he would get up, wrap his arms around her waist and sway with her to the music of their family. Swaying was never enough for her though, so she would face him and begin a waltz or a tango, and once even a salsa in their crowded kitchen.

No, she never grew old. Her soul was evergreen.

It was those little things he fell in love with. Her smile, her eyes, her crazy hair, her shortness, her dancing, even her temper. They were pieces of a puzzle. They were meant to be.

Everything they did was filled with passion and love.

Their fights were ruthless. He would say something, do something, a mistake, and she would retaliate with harsh words. It brought them closer together, becoming aware of their insecurities and aversions. He would apologise, they would kiss, and they were better again.

It could have ended for them, he mused; their love was not a fairy-tale. Many times their life could have ended before beginning, minor mistakes and fights which spiralled out of control. But there was one major fight they hated to dwell on. It broke them up for weeks.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was flourishing better than anyone could have predicted after the war. Fred and George were constantly working, spending their days on the shop floor and their evenings experimenting on new inventions, trying to keep up with customer demands. Fred's disability, although expected by everyone to be a barrier in his life, was almost healed by the shop. He had less pain in his legs and his scars forgotten. The little sleep they did get did not interfere with their contagious grins among their customers.

Alicia was working long hours during the day after Hogwarts and had little time to juggle her Ministry paperwork, a job she detested but was stuck with, and her duties at home in the flat above the shop.

For days Alicia arrived home only to find the flat a catastrophic mess. She would clear it up with her sore legs and arms and then move onto dinner, hoping for once she would be able to share it in George's company. He skipped up the steps shortly after.

"Cheers, love," George said, grinning at the plate she had served and placed on their little dining table. "Absolutely famished. Missed lunch again, kids wouldn't stop coming in. Pygmy puffs sold out again, need to work on new colours – what do you think of yellow with blue polka dots? Or stripes? Fred's waiting for me, I'll see you later, yeah?"

With his food in hand he retreated out the door and down to the workroom again.

It became a miserable routine for Alicia. The only time she was able to spend with George was in bed, when he would crawl in beside her as she slept and woke up after she had left.

His heart thumped painfully at thinking what she had gone through, Young George completely ignorant and self-consumed in himself and his business to spare a moment for his girlfriend.

Very rarely she ventured down into the shop after work, so he was horrified to see her walking down the stairs with a smile one day. Ironically, it was the day he and Fred were testing out their new product on the very stairs she was walking down.

A warning tingled on his tongue, ready to yell out to her, but he froze, watching her glide down in slow motion. Fred had not noticed.

She caught his eye and smiled almost shyly. He hadn't noticed the bags under her eyes or the paleness of her skin. His stomach lurched.

A squawk rung through the shop and everyone stopped to listen, eyes wandering around to find the source. A parrot swooped down from a high beam, red and yellow and blue feathers drifting to the ground. It stopped directly over Alicia, flapping its large wings. Another squawk, holding on longer and louder so much so that many customers covered their ears. Alicia seemed to be too transfixed to move. The bird, with its head tilted up, let out a mighty screech, and then a garish green and purple egg dropped from it.

In spite of his horror at the circumstance, he was anxious to see if it was successful.

Green and purple pieces of shell littered the ground as it cracked on Alicia's head, a putrid stench emanated from the orange goo spilt over her entire body, and then the parrot popped out of existence, its feathers slowly falling, clinging to Alicia.

Laughter emerged from the crowd, fingers pointing, pictures being shot. Fred clapped George's hand and wandered into the crowd, yelling out their new invention.

George's smile vanished as Alicia turned around and went up the stairs without a reaction. He followed.

"Ali?" he had called upon entering their flat.

A book whooshed by his head, missing by inches. His eyes settled on the other objects flying into their room.

She stood there, her wand flicking around, sorting her things into a suitcase.

"Alicia?"

He was sure she ignored him, but he couldn't tell for sure seeing only her back.

A shoe hit his arm on its way into the suitcase. Clothes folded themselves neatly and books stacked together in a mosaic, slotting in any free space. George had to forcefully turn her by the shoulder, ignoring the orange now coating his hand.

"What are you doing?"

Her glare had always been fierce, but never before had he seen such venom in her eyes, not directed to him.

"I'm going."

"What? Why?" he asked, bewildered, as she manoeuvred around him, her suitcase trailing behind.

"If I have to answer that then you really are a bloody tosspot."

"What have I done?"

"Like you didn't see."

"You've never minded the jokes before!"

"If you had been paying any attention you would know why it bothered me."

Even with his fading memory he could never forget this one, the one where he lost her, the incomparable pain that shot through all of his nerves.

"Love," he tried, but she ignored him, putting on her cloak. "Babe, please."

She stood up, and then a pop. She was gone.

George paused in his reminiscing, finding it hurt his heart too much to remember it in one go. It seemed to pain him further every time he thought about it. He drunk in her appearance before him, back into a deep sleep, and kissed her hand, holding it up to his face. She was with him, he had to remind himself; he knew how their story went.

Weeks had dragged on with no light or joy for George. His Alicia was gone, and he had no idea where. Everyone he asked either offered him sympathy and sad shakes of their head or glares and curses for his stupidity. He preferred the latter. He deserved it.

Her mug sat on the counter. She had forgotten it. The inscription on it read, "Mrs Alicia Weasley," a gag gift from Angelina on her birthday. George was not ashamed to admit he cried when he saw it, the only physical item of her presence having been there. He drank out of it always, whether it was tea or water. He took it everywhere with him, to the Burrow, to the shop or even to Fred's separate flat. He did not drink out of anything else for those long weeks.

And just like he had hoped, she apparated into the flat one night in search of it.

It was late when she snuck around the flat, believing George to be asleep. He was on the sofa, watching her silently, thinking he was dreaming or hallucinating. He had realised his ignorance with several kicks up the arse from Katie and Angelina and cried himself to sleep, thinking she would never come back knowing how self-absorbed he truly was. Before she became aware of his presence she apparated out. That night was spent silently in tears and anguish.

She returned the next day, only this time she walked into the shop during her lunch break. It was Fred who greeted her at the counter.

"Leesh," Fred had said. Only George was entitled to call her Ali. She hated that it sounded like a boy's name, but the way it rolled of George's tongue made it sound like a prayer.

"I need to find my mug," she said, offering no reason as to why she needed it, what it meant to her.

"You look like crap."

"I'd say the same to you but that's just how you were born."

"You snogged an identical face."

Her face hardened.

"Ali."

She didn't turn around, Fred saw her gulp and her face break slightly. George moved in front of her.

No words were exchanged verbally, but their eyes spoke everything; they had a funny way of doing that.

"I'm so sorry," George had whispered, afraid his voice would break, that the world would crash down on him and he would start blubbering in front of her. He could feel his eyes begin to water.

The next thing he knew she was lost in the small crowd and only found her again when she was halfway up the stairs.

"Alicia!" he yelled.

George pushed past people, young and old, whoever was in his way. He was determined not to let her get away again. In fear of getting trampled on the customers created a path for him, watching as he stumbled over feet and almost tripped up the stairs. Fortunately, Alicia had stopped.

"I love you!"

It was the first time he said it. They were young and unaware of what love truly was. It was a topic in stories, the inspiration behind songs and the force which kept their families together. During their separation George had come to the conclusion that he could not live with happiness without Alicia, without love.

Giddiness took over him when the words spilled out of his mouth, but was overpowered by anxiety. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

Alicia turned, her expression only qualified as one of shock.

And then his mouth opened again.

"Marry me."

Everyone gasped.

He walked up the stairs, his eyes connected with hers. He stumbled.

"I'm the biggest arse in the world for treating you like that. You don't deserve that, ever. I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you, never have and never will. But I need you. Merlin's tits I don't know what I would do without you. These last few weeks…I've been dying. I need you to stay alive. It's like…it's like that film you forced me to watch. Shit, I can't remember what it was called, but it was that one where –"

"– This misery can't last…not even life lasts very long," she quoted.

"That's the film!"

"It's the only one you've seen."

"You'll need to show me more." He willed himself to smile, hoping she felt the same. "Kill my misery. Marry me. Please."

Blue eyes shone, and then came that smile he _loved _so much, complete with rounded full cheeks and white teeth that were not completely straight. Their separation was lost between them.

"Took your bloody time."

She jumped and he grabbed her.

"Shit!" he cursed, grabbing hold of the railing with one hand as he edged over. He would not ruin this moment by falling.

Alicia laughed in his ear and, once his feet were firm on the ground, he hugged her tight and swung around.

"I love you," she whispered back in his ear so he could hear clearly against the cheers, his soon-to-be Mrs Alicia Weasley.

"I love you."

She was awake again, gazing up at him and rubbing her thumb along his cheek.

"I don't deserve you."

"Shut up, you old coot," she said.

"You still love me. Old coot, smelly arse, hair chest and all."

"I still love you."

They were young and beautiful, youthful in every way and expressed it constantly, ignorant to the future struggles ahead of them. They still fought over the small things but they learnt from that fight, their behaviours and their childishness. It helped them grow and understand love, the love which kept them together through the pain life sprung upon them.

Their impending wedding had been a beautiful nightmare to George. He could not wait until he could finally call Alicia his, put a ring on her finger, uniting them together for all of eternity. His mother stressed over the details, her mother insistent on muggle features and traditions. It became less of an event in their life to cherish and more of a competition between other couples. Although George loved competitions, his wedding was one he would happily lose as long as he got to experience it with his love.

In regards to the actual wedding, he forgot most of it. All the little details he had not paid attention to were inconsequential to him. The speeches dragged on. The walking – dear God the walking. If they moved any slower he would have pushed them to their seats himself. And then came the realisation that his fiancé had walked unbearably slowly with her father and he had in fact pulled her by the hand to the front, desperate to be bonded.

"What are you thinking about?" Alicia asked. "You're daydreaming again."

"Our wedding."

"I can't really remember much of it."

George chuckled. "Neither can I."

"What do you remember from it?"

"The dance."

Dancing became somewhat of a theme for them. It represented each major event in their life together, beginning with the Yule Ball. It symbolised their love and its stages, starting off uncoordinated and blossoming into a shared soul, shared thoughts.

Alicia's mother had pulled George to the side one day and stressed the importance of a married couple's first dance. He remembered Bill and Fleur's dance, the gentle swaying and turning, and he thought of Alicia's dancing. Determined not to put her ability to shame again, he secretly went to dance lessons with his mother, sister and twin. Every appointment they attended he regretted it, whined and kicked that it was a stupid decision when he could not get a move right. On their wedding, he couldn't have been more proud.

They stood in the middle of the tent somewhere near Hagrid's old hut, their wedding having had taken place on Hogwarts grounds in the summer on McGonagall's offer. George took her hand and pulled her into him, her head level to his nose due to her heels. He led the dance, pushing her out and pulling her in, lifting her up and twirling her around, his feet swift and precise with hers. She giggled and challenged him, leading their dance into a war of sorts. Their hands held together, standing side by side, George hopped further away to the side. Alicia pulled him back, their bodies bumping. Sharing a smile, George wrapped his arms around her and dipped her low, peppering her exposed skin with kisses.

That was their first dance as a married couple in front of guests, and though they both remembered parts of it, it was their second dance that stuck with them.

No garden took over the Quidditch pitch that time, just the towering stands and the starry night sky. Alicia stood in the middle, her heels once again discarded, savouring the moment when George wrapped himself around her.

"Those were some impressive moves, Weasley," she said, humming her content at his lips on her neck.

"I've got loads more which I can't wait to show you," his lips grazed her ear, his mind conjuring up images of the night to come.

She pulled away from him and grabbed his hands.

"Show me."

He lifted an eyebrow and put a hand to his trousers. "Here? Bit open, I'd have preferred somewhere more secluded and comfortable, but if my lady is that in need…"

"Not that, you plonker. Dance with me."

"I love it when you boss me around."

"George."

"Turns me on."

"George!"

"Right, of course, dancing. Allow me, Mrs Weasley."

A moment of silence, broken by Alicia lifting George's hand and putting it in hers. Her short height allowed him to admire beneath her dress. Her finger tilted his head up, his smile cheeky and wink flattering, and their dance began. George placed their entwined hands over his heart.

"This is yours," he whispered.

"My, what a romantic sap you've become."

He brought his lips within a hairs distance of hers. "Only for you, my love."

He stepped back, lifted their joined hands and twirled her into him, her hips swaying seductively and legs gliding around them. She was in her natural element, letting loose and moving with no guidelines. George tried to keep up, running after her, rubbing his hands over her legs embraced with his, and found it much more amusing to watch and follow. His fingers trailed down her arm to her hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing her palm softly.

She pushed him to the ground and jumped. Amazement washed over him as she held herself up on her hands on either side of his head, her legs twisting in the air until she brought them down, twisting and revealing her bare back to him, she stood, his hands ghosting over her legs. He appreciate the smaller dress that she fought their mothers to wear, the skirt allowing her the freedom her legs needed. It was almost as if she had planned the dance. She pulled him up.

"Where are those moves, Mr Weasley?" Alicia teased.

Challenges were what he thrived on, what pushed him to succeed. He extracted himself from her hold and pushed her back by the shoulders. He jumped back, watched her leap to him and wrap her legs around his waist as he spun them several times, his hands resting on her backside. She slid off him and he turned her around the grass, dipping her once, forcing himself not to bite the tempting flesh of her bare neck under the light of the stars. He pulled her back to him, her back resting against his front, and nudged her face to him. A quick kiss on the lips and he parted.

She ran, and then jumped. Cartwheeled and twisted her small body into the air as he watched, mesmerised. Her eyes were as wide as her smile as she returned to him, running her hands down his torso to his hands, forcing him into another dance.

He managed to keep up this time. Their minds and bodies in tune to the fast pace they created. No music restricted them. Whenever her head rested against his chests she could feel his pounding heart, feel her own heart thumping with it.

It lasted forever, their dance, neither wanting to stop and rest, memorising the feel of the other, imprinting it in their minds forever. Alicia's hair whipped around them, hitting George in the face many times, and not once did he complain. They laughed as they collided from a turn and collapsed on the ground. The stars smiled down on their newfound unity and their strengthened love.

There was not a move they forgot in the years of memories shared.

"You showed me some remarkable moves," Alicia smiled.

"You doubted me."

"Doesn't matter. You proved me wrong."

"First time I succeeded in doing so."

"You're sexy when you dance."

"Oh?" George stood up, ignoring his aching back and tired legs. "What – like this?"

He started a little jig, waving his old hips and moving his hands around in the air. His wife laughed.

"Most definitely."

Dancing hurt him, so he sat back down and instinctively took her hand back in his own.

"Who knew that the Quidditch pitch would be so important to us?"

"I only associated the Quidditch pitch with Quidditch when we were in school," George said. "Although, there were a few times I thought of certain…mind-blowing explosions."

"You better be talking about fireworks."

"Of course, love. But we did have our first mind-blowing explosion there."

"George Weasley!"

Their laughter filled up their room, Alicia's turning into a hacking cough as her eyes teared. George pushed her into a sitting position and rubbed her back until they subsided.

"I'll get you some water."

"No," her hand gripped his painfully. "Stay. Stay with me."

He sighed and conjured some water in the empty glass on the bedside table and held it to her lips. It was not nearly as refreshing as what she needed but he couldn't deny her any requests.

"Better?"

She nodded. "Thanks."

Their wedding dance had not been the last time they had experienced the wonders fate planned for them with the Quidditch pitch. Over the years they had witnessed their future generations in matches, cheering them on from the high stands be it rain, shine or thunder, and once even showering Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, another of the twins' invention.

The previous month had been their most recent venture there, for the second Wizarding War's memorial. It had not ended a particularly happy day.

She was extremely weak that day, unable to stand for very long, growing tired and dizzy in the heat. It was one of the moments she had to be taken out in the wheelchair, much to her disgust. She never had a happy smile on when she had to use her wheelchair, always preferring to crumble on her unsteady legs than rely on support.

After praying for those who had died and wishing well and good fortunes to those who survived George pushed her to the Quidditch pitch. The sun had begun to set, leaving the sky a medley of pink and orange, and dinner was almost ready. He groaned at the rocky ground beneath his feet, which he was certain had been about to swell.

"Do you need Ellie to come help?" Alicia had asked, referring to their granddaughter.

"No, she's spending time with James, best to leave her be."

"I thought you were going to fight off any boys after her."

"James is a good bloke. And besides, he'd probably poke me with his finger and I'd fall over."

Steadying her wheelchair on the grass, he plopped down beside her on the grass, massaging her feet. She never did like shoes and more times than not chose to forgo them. She sighed.

"That feels good."

"I've always been good with my hands."

"You have no idea."

Their eyes met and an ancient energy pulsed through his body.

They had watched the sunset, breathed in the fresh air of Scotland and watched the ghostly memories of their time at Hogwarts before them, of Young Alicia and Young George bickering, Young Fred and Young Angelina sneaking kisses, and Young Katie and Young Lee flirting or fighting, no one could differentiate with them. They had all fallen in love in mysterious ways, George and Alicia's creeping up on them, Fred and Angelina jumping headfirst into it and then deliberating about it after, Lee and Kate experimenting with others before falling into each other's arms.

"I love you," Alicia had whispered, repeating herself that day again. It was becoming a habit. George didn't know whether she kept forgetting she had said it or not.

"I love you more, my cutie."

She snorted. "Of all the pet names in the world."

"My angel?"

She sent him a tired glare accompanied with a small smile.

"You're ear-itating me."

He loved it when she joked about his ear, a reminder of her endless love uncontaminated by vanity.

Alicia kicked his hands away from her foot and pushed herself up. She struggled for a few seconds.

"Help me up."

"Why?" he had asked, but complied.

Her body looked even smaller and thinner than ever before. It frightened him, but he knew better than to worry her. She held her hand out to him.

"Come on, one last dance here."

_Last. _The word scared him even more. They had too many firsts, seconds and again's. He did not want a last. He wanted forever.

"This isn't the last," he had said firmly, pulling her impossibly close to him.

"Ok."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

It was a complete contrast to the Yule Ball and their wedding. They hardly moved in this dance, both too weak for the energetic movements they were once associated with. The wind swayed with them, blowing their hair around each other, blocking out the rest of the world.

She collapsed minutes into the dance, and he dropped with her, holding her with all his might.

"Ali?" he had asked, shaking her. His voice wavered and he struggled to contain himself. "Ali, come on, love. Let's get you in the chair."

"I'm 'k."

"'Course you are, love. Can you move your foot? Yeah? Good, just move that a bit…"

George managed to get her back in her chair, but her head rolled to the side.

"Oh, God."

He panicked. She was always so strong and held herself up, breathed deeply and concentrated on the ground beneath her, but she had looked so…dead. He was reassured only by the thumping of her heart.

"Fred!" George had yelled, his voice dying in the middle of his twin's name. He tried again.

"Ellie! Daniel! Elijah! Someone, please."

No one came to his call. He lifted himself up on his shaky legs and rolled her back to the castle where his family jumped on them, both scolding him from leaving their sights and asking about Alicia. He was too weak to answer their cries. It turned out she was just sleeping.

No sleep came that night. He lounged on his side uncomfortably, watching her, listening to her breathe and snore. He didn't think of the _lasts._

"You're frowning," her tired voice broke him out of reverie again. "Stop that, you'll get frown lines."

"I was thinking I needed some more."

"Smile. Laugh. Those lines are far more attractive." The tips of her fingers grazed over his chin, his lips, nose, eyes, and his missing ear. His eyes closed. Her other hand rested over his heart.

"Is this still mine?"

"Forever and ever. And maybe even a bit longer."

She pinched his cheek.

"It's our anniversary soon."

"Is it?" George asked.

"Three days."

"Oh."

"It's ok. I don't want you to plan anything extravagant."

"How about a visit to the Quidditch pitch? We can dance."

Alicia responded with a smile. Her hand interlocked with his and she pulled lightly.

"Come. Lie down with me."

He got out of his chair and stretched, the bones in his back popping. Their hands still locked, he pulled back the covers and lay beside his wife, stroking her hair as her head rest on his chest. They listened to the birds chirping their morning song, greeting the new summer day.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

She shook her head. "The kids should be here soon. What time is it – eight?"

"The kids will be fine, they can make their own breaky."

"They better not feed you any beans."

"Cheeky."

She let out a drawn out groan, curling her body into George more.

"George."

"Yes, love?" he whimpered.

"It hurts."

He blinked harshly and kissed her forehead repeatedly.

"What can I do?"

Her breathing sounded abrasive in his sensitive ear. "Hold me."

George wound his arms around her, touching her entirely with his body, entwining them together.

"What else?"

There was nothing else, he realised. He was utterly useless in her moment of need. The disease was killing her from the inside and all the love in the world couldn't force it out of her.

"I'm sorry," he swallowed the lump in his throat. He might not have been able to cure her but he would make it as easy for her as possible. "For ever hurting you."

"It's ok," she gasped.

"I love you."

"I love you. So much."

She began trembling in his arms violently. He embraced her tighter.

"Don't," he choked on a sob. "Don't you dare."

"I love you, George."

"Please. I need you. I love you."

Her body was cold and the sweat from her body soaked through their clothes, sticking to him. A clump of her white hair streaked with gold sat on her pillow.

"Please, don't go."

"The…the kids…"

"You'll be here for them. Stay."

"It hurts."

"You know how shit I am at making their eggs. And - and Ellie's cheesecake. You know s-she loves it when you surprise her with cheesecake in the morning. She's bringing James over, remember? She wanted us to share family breakfast with him. Love?"

"It really hurts."

"I'm sorry," he could not differentiate his shaking from hers, sobs wracking his body as he cried freely, his tears descending down his face onto hers. He inhaled her skin and hair. "I'm so sorry, I love you."

He gulped and dared a look at her face. Her blue eyes sparkled as they connected with his, her full cheeks smiling in that way he loved so much, engraved in his memory always. Her last smile. Her hand shook as she lifted it to his face, holding it in her rough palm. George leaned down and pressed a kiss on her lips. It still tasted as sweet as their first.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips, just as her breathing ceased and her heart stopped.

A howl broke through the house, full of anguish and incomparable pain.


End file.
